


Of Lovers' Finding

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Corsetry, Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The corset makes a reappearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Lovers' Finding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emella/gifts).



_Here’s a story_  
_Of lover’s finding_  
_Union so deep_  
_There is no unwinding_  
_Tender threads exquisitely finding_  
_Two lives together_  
_One soul deep resounding_

_Love so strong whatever the weather_  
_Even apart our souls are together_  
_It’s you and me, babe, forever and ever_  
_Even apart we’re dreaming together_

"One" by Lamb 

 

"It hurts," Dean breathes.

Nothing like his brash daytime voice, it's quiet and somehow softened, robbed of its edges. Sam's nose glides up the nape of Dean's neck, pleased that no one else gets to hear this voice. Only him, only him. It's like a secret.

"I know it does, baby," Sam says, his fingers lingering over the laces. He wants to spin this out as long as possible. "But it did make me very happy. Doesn't that count? Don't you want me to be happy?"

Dean shivers, eyes fluttering shut as the first inch of the corset loosens enough for Sam to pull the panels aside and dip his tongue into the angry red grooves in Dean's skin. Pretty. So pretty. "Yes," he whispers and Sam's not sure if it's in answer to his question or a response to the sensation.

"You've been so good today, so beautiful. Every time you moved, I could see the corset binding you, bending you. Shaping you." Sam runs his fingers up the stiffened and boned plum silk covering Dean's sides until he reaches the smooth-edged top and then slides around to the front, where Dean's nipples are hard and waiting for his fingers, his finger _nails_.

Dean arches up and against Sam, his head falling back onto Sam's shoulder so Sam can see his flinching eyelids his gasping, open mouth. Dean is hard, so hard, wet and shining and Sam can't help but reach one hand between Dean's legs, stroking and fondling too lightly and too slow to be anything more than a tease.

Dean's hips and thighs quake with the effort to stay unmoved, to not try and thrust more strongly into Sam's grip. Sam smiles, pleased. "So good," he murmurs, turning his face against the heated column of Dean's throat and scraping his teeth against the skin. Dean's shaking gets more violent, almost vibrating. His moan is low and bitten off. "You've been so good, baby, all day."

Dean's breath catches, chest heaving and flushed almost as dark as the corset's cloth. Sam pushes Dean slightly until Dean leans up again, giving Sam access to the corset's laces. He puts his fingers through them and works the next set of eyelets loose, exposing more angry grooved skin where the boning and stays bit. This is so far outside even their regular level of fucked up that Sam can't quite begin to quantify it, so he doesn't. Instead, he wishes he'd been able to fit Dean into the panties that went with the corset. He would have liked to see them, clinging and wet with pre-come. Not that Dean otherwise naked and helplessly, rigidly erect isn't a sight to see all on its own.

"What do you want, Dean?" he asks, nipping Dean's earlobe and relishing the shudder that wracks Dean. "For being such a good boy, what do you want?"

Dean's having a hard time breathing through the constriction of the corset; Sam will need to loosen it even more soon—and he's looking forward to that as much as any other present to be unwrapped—but not yet. Not yet. Instead, he leans in, puts his chin on Dean's shoulder and reaches around to finger just the slick swollen head of Dean's cock. Dean pants harder.

"You Sammy," he says. "Just you."

It's Sam's turn for his chest to hurt, because it never stops being amazing, that Dean trusts him like this. That Dean loves and wants him like this. One hand still unthreading the long laces, the other circling and circling over Dean's soft slit, like a gaping little mouth, Sam prompts, "How? You want me how, Dean?"

"Touch me," Dean says, exhaling on a shivery moan. Then, as if getting out those two words broke some kind of barrier, "Please Sam, God, please, just…just touch me, hurts so bad and I…if you'd just please… Please."

Sam obliges, closing his fingers around Dean firmly and slicking Dean's own wetness up and down the length of him. Dean's hips writhe once, until Sam murmurs, "Still…be still…" He doesn't yell. He never has to yell. Dean makes a noise like a sob, but he settles back against Sam again, Sam's erection cradled in Dean's firm, soft ass. Sam turns his head again and breathes in deeply, just behind Dean's ear.

"Is that it?" Sam asks, driving his thumb harder against Dean. The corset's loose enough now that Dean can breathe unrestricted, that Sam can see the pink-mauve pressure marks, some which will fade and others that will leave little bruises for him to find with fingertip and tongue later. "Is that all you want?"

Dean shakes his head, his back bowed into an arc with the effort of being still and his head again resting on Sam's shoulder.

"You have to say it, Dean. There's nothing I can do unless you ask me for it." That had been the first rule and ironclad, because most of the time Sam still isn't sure all this is such a sterling idea. He'd had lines, and he feels them blurring into sloppy bruises, washing away under steady tides of come and blood and sweat. He just wishes he could feel worse about it.

"You know," Dean whines, making tiny circles with his pelvis, small enough they can be ignored. Sam's not unreasonable, especially when it comes to Dean's pleasure.

But there are limits.

"You have to say it, baby." Sam lips the gathering sweat off Dean's temple, runs his tongue around the curve of Dean's ear. "You know I want to, I want to so bad, but you have to tell me. You have to ask."

"Please." Dean's hands are fisted at his sides. He's not allowed to touch yet; not Sam, not himself. "Please fuck me, Sam, please."

"Okay," Sam breathes the word and some of the shaking tension goes out of them both. "On the bed. On your belly."

Dean moves slowly, all his blood somewhere other than his brain or extremities. Sam has time to run his hands up those taut-muscled thighs and around the curves of Dean's ass. He leans forward and bites, hard enough to leave a bruise, but not hard enough to break the skin. Dean's gasp is loud, and Sam watches his hand dart to grip the base of his dick hard, fighting not to come. He's not allowed to come. Not until Sam lets him. Until Sam _asks_.

A quiet, stifled noise when his cock drags wet and painful over the coverlet, but then Dean's arranging himself, legs spread wide, hips slightly canted, elbows braced. Sam gropes for his own prick, because the sight of Dean like this, laid out and open is just…intense, reminding him again that this is his and his alone. It's just them, Sam and Dean.

He slicks up fast, but takes his time circling and rubbing Dean's ass with two fingers, watching Dean pulse and quiver in time to the movement of his hand. Dean's face buries in the mattress, but Sam can still hear him, almost crying because he's so sensitive. Relenting, Sam presses in with both fingers and Dean's head comes up, choking on it even as he tightens up around the invasion.

"Shhh." With his other hand, Sam kneads Dean's buttock, willing the muscles to relax. "It's okay, Dean. It's just me. It's just me."

Sam takes his time here too; in part because Dean is tight and it simply _takes_ time to open him enough to accept Sam inside without undue pain, but also because he enjoys it _a lot_ , fingering deep within and feeling every shudder and shake that goes through Dean. He's so responsive; sometimes Sam feels this is how a professional musician must feel, wringing joy and sorrow, delight and pain from his chosen instrument.

He keeps going, slow stroking slides and careful twists, adding fingers as he goes until Dean can't _not_ push back onto it, rocking and grinding. Dean's talking too, though Sam's not sure how much Dean's aware of it at this point; mostly a nonsense litany, equal parts _yes_ and _please_ and _Sammy_.

"Would you do it, baby?" Sam asks, snaking against Dean's searing hot side and licking a stripe up Dean's face. The stubble burns against his tongue, but he likes it. "Would you come for me?"

Dean squeaks, a noise Sam's never heard him make, and then he's convulsing around Sam's hand in him and the thick seashore smell of his spunk rises to fill Sam's nostrils. Sam inhales sharply and pushes down on the rising tide of his own want.

Not yet. Not yet. Dean asked; now he's got to follow through.

"Dean," he says softly, biting and licking at Dean's ear while he shudders and comes down.

Dean makes a sleepy and unrecognizable noise that tapers to a whimper at the end as Sam's fingers probe over his prostate again.

"You still want this? Look at me."

Dean drags his head over so that he's facing Sam, eyes half-slitted and glazed. Sweat and tears glitter on his eyelashes like paste diamonds.

"You still want me to fuck you?"

Dean's smile is exhausted but brilliant, heartfelt and happy. "Oh, yeah, Sam. Yes, please."

Sam swallows, his throat so dry it hurts. "Okay."

Dean is still tight when Sam guides himself in; Sam presses down on Dean's shoulders and works his hips in small bucking thrusts until suddenly Dean lets out a deep contented sigh and suddenly opens around Sam, taking him in and holding him deep. Sam groans against Dean's shoulder.

"Hard, Sam, please? I want… Do it hard."

Sam nods, incapable of actual speech for a second. They shift and slide a little until Sam has the leverage he needs. Hard it is; Sam has no problems at all with hard. Dean moans, loud and constant with each plunge into him; it's not pain, Sam knows his pain sounds. Okay. Good. Yes.

"You gonna come for me again, Dean?" he pants, dizzy and elated and sort of high with it, with _this_ , flawless and somehow _clean_. "Work yourself, baby. I want to you come again."

Dean nods, his right arm shifting and sliding to disappear under him. Dean's breath stops for a moment when he touches himself and then they're pushing and rocking and fucking back and against and through and Sam's digging into Dean's skin so hard he's afraid he's going to draw blood and worse, that neither of them will care. He imagines the two of them lying there as he licks it away, another piece of Dean taken into himself and it's too much, too _much_ and Dean's gone again, shuddering so tight and hot around Sam that Sam's afraid he'll never find his way out of Dean again.

_And that doesn't seem so bad._

Mine. Mine. Mine.

"Dean," he says, and he doesn't know if it's a warning or a plea before he's thrusting deep—too deep—and emptying himself of everything, including thought.


End file.
